Icerberg Lounge, Afternoon
The private dining room at the Iceberg Lounge exuded old-world luxury—wood-paneled walls adorned with original oil paintings, crystal chandeliers casting a warm glow over the antique furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows offering breathtaking views of Gotham Harbor. It was a space designed to impress, to remind visitors of the wealth and taste of those privileged enough to use it.
Carmine Falcone sat at the head of the mahogany table, his lined face impassive as he sipped a glass of Bordeaux older than most of his lieutenants. At seventy-three, the patriarch of Gotham's most powerful crime family retained the sharp mind and iron will that had built his empire, though time had taken its toll on his once-imposing physical presence. His tailored suit hung slightly loose on his frame, and liver spots dotted the backs of his hands, but his dark eyes remained keen and calculating.
He checked his watch—a vintage Patek Philippe passed down from his own father—noting that Alberto was, as usual, running late. The disrespect irked him more than he cared to admit. In his day, punctuality had been non-negotiable, a sign of respect that even his most hardened enforcers had observed religiously.
The door opened without a knock, and Alberto Falcone strode in with the confident air of a man accustomed to entering rooms on his own terms. At thirty-four, Alberto represented the new generation of the Falcone empire—Harvard-educated, internationally connected, and possessing a vision for the family business that often clashed with his father's more traditional approach.
"Father," Alberto greeted, crossing to the bar to pour himself a scotch before taking a seat at the opposite end of the table. His designer suit and meticulously groomed appearance created a stark contrast with Carmine's old-world aesthetic. "Sorry I'm late. I was finalizing arrangements for tonight's operation with Taskmaster."
Carmine's expression remained neutral, though his disapproval was evident in the slight tightening around his eyes. "Twenty minutes, Alberto. That's twenty minutes of disrespect to a man who built the empire you're so eager to reshape."
Alberto took a measured sip of his scotch, clearly suppressing a retort. "My apologies. It won't happen again."
"An empty promise we both know you won't keep," Carmine replied evenly. "But we're not here to discuss your chronic tardiness. Tell me about this operation of yours—these assassins you've brought to my city without proper consultation."
"Our city," Alberto corrected smoothly. "And I did consult you about the need to eliminate obstacles to your acquittal. The methods are simply an extension of the objective we agreed upon."
Carmine leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering though no less intense. "We agreed on targeted pressure to ensure a favorable outcome at trial. Not a parade of costume-wearing psychopaths drawing attention across Gotham." He gestured toward a folded newspaper on the table, the headline clearly visible: 'ASSASSIN APPREHENDED IN BOTANICAL GARDENS STANDOFF'. "This is the opposite of the discretion our operations require."
Alberto remained unperturbed, swirling his scotch before responding. "The old methods aren't sufficient anymore, Father. Not with Batman dismantling our traditional leverage points. Councilman Grogan would have pushed his anti-corruption legislation through if Deadshot hadn't eliminated him. The Graysons' testimony would have connected us to the military supply chain if Deathstroke hadn't intervened." He spread his hands in a gesture of pragmatic acceptance. "Times change. Our methods must change with them."
"There's a difference between adaptation and recklessness," Carmine countered. "You've put a bounty on Batman that's drawn every mercenary and psychopath to Gotham. The increased police presence alone has disrupted three major shipments this week." His voice hardened. "And your new friend Pierce—this government man you're so eager to impress—have you considered what happens when he no longer needs our organization?"
A flash of annoyance crossed Alberto's features, quickly masked behind practiced composure. "Alexander Pierce represents opportunity, Father. His resources, his connections—they open doors we couldn't access otherwise. The enhancements he's providing for our key personnel will revolutionize our enforcement capabilities."
"Enhancements," Carmine repeated, the word dripping with disdain. "In my day, we relied on loyalty, fear, and respect—not turning our people into chemical experiments." He drained his wine glass before continuing. "The trial begins in four days. Thanks to Judge Romano's cooperation and Chief Loeb's strategic evidence misplacement, the prosecution's case was already compromised. Your assassin circus has added complications we didn't need."
The private dining room door opened again, this time admitting a trim, silver-haired man in a police uniform adorned with the insignia of Gotham's Chief of Police. Gillian Loeb had served as the Falcone family's highest-placed asset in law enforcement for nearly two decades, his rise through the ranks carefully orchestrated through a combination of blackmail, bribery, and strategic advancement of his career.
"Gentlemen," Loeb greeted, closing the door behind him and checking his watch. "I can only stay fifteen minutes before my absence from headquarters becomes conspicuous."
Carmine nodded acknowledgment. "We appreciate your discretion, Chief Loeb. Please, join us." He gestured to an empty chair, positioned equidistant from father and son—a deliberate placement that underscored Loeb's role as a shared resource rather than aligned with either Falcone's vision.
"I've managed to contain most of the fallout from the Kraven incident," Loeb reported without preamble, declining the drink Alberto offered with a small shake of his head. "The botanical gardens case is being handled exclusively by the Preservation Department rather than GCPD, which limits my direct control, but I've placed two of our people on the task force to monitor developments."
"And Batman's involvement?" Alberto asked.
Loeb's expression tightened. "Officially denied by the department, as always. Unfortunately, witnesses clearly saw him battling Kraven, including several graduate students working late at the research facility. The media has the story, though I've managed to keep the most sensational details out of the official reports."
"What about the boy?" Carmine inquired, his tone deceptively casual.
Both Alberto and Loeb looked at him sharply, surprised by the unexpected question.
"The boy?" Loeb repeated cautiously.
"The Grayson child," Carmine clarified. "The one Wayne took in after Deathstroke eliminated his parents." He noted the flicker of tension that crossed his son's features at the mention of the assassination. "I understand there was a witness who reported seeing a small figure at the botanical gardens during Batman's confrontation with Kraven."
Loeb shifted uncomfortably. "There was a report, yes. Disregarded as unreliable—the witness had been drinking and described seeing 'Batman's little helper' during the fight. No corroborating evidence has emerged."
Carmine nodded thoughtfully, though his eyes remained fixed on Alberto. "Interesting timing, wouldn't you say? Wayne takes in an orphaned circus performer with exceptional athletic abilities, and days later, Batman appears to have a young assistant."
"It's coincidence, nothing more," Alberto dismissed. "Wayne's philanthropy is well-documented, and the boy is barely ten years old. Hardly Batman material."
"Perhaps," Carmine conceded, though his tone suggested he was far from convinced. "Though in my experience, there are very few actual coincidences in Gotham." He turned his attention back to Loeb. "What's the status of the evidence for my trial?"
The police chief straightened slightly, on firmer ground with this topic. "As planned, the most damaging physical evidence has been compromised through improper storage procedures. The chain of custody documentation for the financial records shows multiple irregularities that defense counsel can exploit. Three key witnesses have reconsidered their testimony after receiving our... persuasive arguments about the benefits of memory lapses."
"And Harvey Dent?" Carmine pressed.
Loeb's expression darkened. "Dent remains a problem. He's incorruptible in the traditional sense—no financial leverage, no personal scandals to exploit, no family vulnerabilities to target. And he's built his case with the assumption that physical evidence might be compromised. He's relying heavily on witness testimony structured in layers, so that even if some witnesses recant, others can corroborate key elements."
Alberto leaned forward, his interest sharpened. "Which is why the next phase of our operation is critical," Alberto leaned forward, his interest sharpened. "Taskmaster's secondary target tonight, after acquiring the Wayne technology, is Assistant DA Rachel Dawes."
Carmine raised an eyebrow. "Not Dent himself?"
"Strategically unwise," Alberto explained, swirling his scotch. "Dent's too high-profile. His death would trigger federal involvement we don't need. Dawes, however, is building the financial evidence portion of the case—the most threatening to our legitimate operations. Without her, Dent loses both his key researcher and his..." Alberto's lips curved into a knowing smile, "emotional support."
"They're involved?" Loeb asked, professional interest piqued.
"Not officially," Alberto replied. "But our surveillance indicates a personal relationship developing. Her removal will destabilize him professionally and personally."
Carmine studied his son with narrowed eyes. "And this Taskmaster—he understands the parameters? No killing."
"The contract is clear," Alberto assured him. "Acquire the specialized body armor prototypes from Wayne's Applied Sciences Division, then take Dawes. She'll be held at our facility on Dixon Docks until after the trial. Once you're acquitted, she'll be released unharmed but thoroughly discredited with manufactured evidence of collusion with defense witnesses."
Loeb shifted uncomfortably. "Kidnapping an Assistant District Attorney crosses lines even my influence can't contain. If this goes wrong—"
"It won't," Alberto cut him off. "Taskmaster has a perfect success record. His photographic reflexes make him essentially unstoppable—he can replicate any fighting style he observes, including Batman's."
The room fell silent as a waiter entered with a fresh bottle of wine. The three men paused their conversation, presenting the practiced facade of legitimate businessmen discussing ordinary matters. Once the young man had uncorked the bottle, filled Carmine's glass, and departed, the door closed firmly behind him.
Carmine sipped the wine, his expression contemplative. "Tell me about Pierce. What exactly does he want from us?"
Alberto hesitated, calculating how much to reveal. "His official position at SHIELD gives him access to resources and intelligence, but limited operational freedom. Our organization provides him with testing grounds for his programs—subjects, facilities, deniability."
"And in return?" Carmine pressed.
"Enhanced soldiers. Political protection. Advanced technology." Alberto leaned back, confidence evident in his posture. "His Project Rebirth initiative has created operatives like Deathstroke—imagine having a dozen such men at our disposal. The old families in New York, Chicago, Miami—they'd have no choice but to acknowledge Gotham as the new power center."
Carmine's face remained impassive, but his knuckles whitened around the stem of his wineglass. "Your ambition exceeds your wisdom, Alberto. Our strength has always been in subtlety—in being the hand that moves unseen. These 'enhanced soldiers' draw attention we cannot afford."
"The landscape is changing, Father," Alberto replied, irritation coloring his tone. "The emergence of these costumed vigilantes demands adaptation. Batman has cost us millions in the past year alone."
"Batman is one man," Carmine countered.
"A man who has systematically dismantled operations that took decades to build," Alberto shot back. "And he's not alone anymore. Metropolis has Superman. Central City has reports of someone moving faster than bullets. Times have changed, and those who don't evolve—"
"Don't lecture me about evolution," Carmine interrupted, his voice dangerously soft. "I built this family's empire from nothing while you were still soiling your diapers. Your Harvard education and European connections don't erase the fundamental truths of our business." He set down his glass with precise control. "Power derived from fear loses its edge when displayed too openly. These assassins, these 'enhanced soldiers'—they're a spectacle that undermines the very foundation of our influence."
Loeb glanced at his watch, clearly uncomfortable with the escalating tension between father and son. "Gentlemen, I should return to headquarters soon."
"Of course, Chief," Carmine nodded, his demeanor instantly shifting to cordial host. "We appreciate your time. Please ensure the patrol schedules for tonight accommodate our needs at both Wayne Enterprises and Ms. Dawes' residence."
"Already arranged," Loeb confirmed. "Response times to those areas will be delayed by at least fifteen minutes due to an unfortunately timed training exercise in the East End."
"Excellent." Carmine rose, signaling the formal conclusion of their meeting. "We'll speak again after tonight's operations."
Loeb stood, straightening his uniform jacket with practiced precision. "Mr. Falcone," he nodded to Carmine, then turned to Alberto. "Mr. Alberto." With that, he departed, leaving father and son alone in the opulent dining room.
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken criticisms and simmering resentment. Alberto finished his scotch in one sharp motion before standing.
"I should oversee the final preparations for tonight," he said, adjusting his cufflinks—platinum with small emerald insets, a gift from Sofia on his thirtieth birthday.
Carmine noticed the gesture, his expression softening fractionally. "How is your sister? Have you visited recently?"
The question caught Alberto off-guard. His carefully maintained composure wavered, revealing a flash of genuine emotion beneath the polished exterior. "Yesterday," he admitted. "Her doctors report no significant change."
"And what do you observe?" Carmine pressed. "Not the doctors—you. You've always been closest to her."
Alberto's jaw tightened. "She's... lucid. More than they claim. The medication keeps her subdued, but her mind is still sharp." He hesitated before adding, "She asks about you."
"Does she?" Carmine's tone was neutral, unreadable.
"She wonders why you never visit," Alberto continued, a hint of accusation entering his voice. "Three years in Arkham, and not once have you gone to see her."
Carmine turned toward the windows, gazing out at Gotham Harbor as afternoon light glinted off the water. "What would be the purpose? To see my daughter in that place, reduced to—" He cut himself off, an unusual display of emotion from the normally controlled patriarch.
"She's still Sofia," Alberto insisted, passion breaking through his businesslike demeanor. "Still a Falcone. The doctors say she could be transferred to a less restrictive facility with the right evaluations and influence."
"The agreement with the DA's office was clear," Carmine replied, his voice hardening again. "Arkham instead of prison. Life instead of lethal injection. We don't revisit settled matters."
"Settled?" Alberto's voice rose slightly. "She took the fall for family business! That 'murder' they convicted her for—you know as well as I do that it was Johnny Viti who—"
"Enough!" Carmine's hand slammed against the table, rattling the crystal and silverware. "What's done is done. Sofia made her choice."
"Did she?" Alberto challenged, years of resentment bubbling to the surface. "Or was the choice made for her? The loyal daughter, protecting the family name while the favored son was sheltered in Europe?"
Carmine turned slowly, his eyes cold. "Be very careful, Alberto. There are lines even a son should not cross."
Alberto held his father's gaze for several tense seconds before looking away, composure gradually returning. "My apologies," he said stiffly. "I spoke out of turn."
"Your sister's situation is unfortunate," Carmine acknowledged, his tone softer but still firm. "But it's also unchangeable at present. Focus on the tasks at hand—securing my acquittal, managing our transition to more... modern operations." He moved closer, placing a hand on Alberto's shoulder in a rare gesture of physical affection. "Once the trial is behind us, perhaps we can revisit Sofia's circumstances."
The offer, though vague, was enough to smooth Alberto's ruffled pride. He nodded once, accepting the temporary peace offering. "I'll report back after Taskmaster completes his objectives."
"See that you do," Carmine replied, removing his hand. "And Alberto—the Wayne technology. What specifically is Taskmaster targeting?"
"Prototype body armor," Alberto explained, professional demeanor fully restored. "Advanced composite materials developed for military applications but shelved due to cost concerns. The specifications suggest it could stop even armor-piercing rounds while maintaining flexibility."
"For Deathstroke," Carmine guessed, connecting the pieces.
Alberto nodded. "Pierce believes it will complement his existing enhancements. Make him virtually unstoppable."
Carmine's expression revealed nothing, but his mind worked through the implications. Deathstroke with enhanced armor would indeed be a formidable asset—or an uncontrollable liability, depending on one's perspective.
"Go," he said finally. "Oversee the operation. But remember—Dawes is to be taken alive and unharmed. Any deviation compromises my case and our larger strategy."
"Of course, Father," Alberto agreed smoothly. "Precision and discipline, as you've always taught me."
As Alberto departed, Carmine returned to the window, gazing out at the city that had been his kingdom for decades. The reflection in the glass showed an aging man, power still evident in his bearing but time inexorably taking its toll. He thought of Sofia in Arkham, her brilliant mind locked away in that gothic monstrosity of an asylum. He thought of Alberto, ambitious and modern but lacking the patience that true power required. He thought of the trial that could end his freedom, despite the considerable resources deployed to ensure a favorable outcome.
Too many variables. Too many moving pieces. Batman. Pierce. Alberto's assassins. Sofia's potential as both vulnerability and asset.
Carmine Falcone had built his empire on careful calculation and perfect timing. Now, with threats converging from multiple directions, he found himself contemplating contingencies he'd hoped never to implement. Family was everything—the core of his life's work, the legacy he'd fought to build. But family could also be a weakness, especially when ambition exceeded judgment.
With practiced steadiness, he poured himself another glass of wine and began mentally reviewing his private contingency plans—arrangements not even Alberto knew existed. Plans that would ensure the Falcone empire survived, regardless of what the coming days might bring.
After all, he hadn't become the most powerful man in Gotham by leaving anything to chance.
—
Wayne Enterprises Applied Sciences Division, Evening
Bruce Wayne moved through the high-security laboratory with the casual confidence of ownership, though his relaxed demeanor masked intense focus. Every camera location, every security checkpoint, every potential entry point was being cataloged and assessed, his mind simultaneously inhabiting two roles—the billionaire CEO conducting an impromptu inspection and the vigilante anticipating tonight's inevitable intrusion.
"These motion sensors are new," Bruce observed, gesturing toward nearly invisible installations at the corridor junctions.
Lucius Fox, Wayne Enterprises' brilliant head of Applied Sciences, nodded with professional pride. "Installed last week. They use thermal mapping algorithms to distinguish between authorized personnel and potential intruders based on movement patterns. A significant upgrade from the standard infrared grid."
"Impressive," Bruce commented, mentally noting both the capabilities and limitations of the system. The specific motion patterns required for recognition could potentially be circumvented by someone with photographic reflexes. "And the vault securing the composite armor prototypes?"
Lucius gave him a measured look, understanding the real question behind the casual inquiry. "Triple-secured, Mr. Wayne. Biometric, algorithmic, and physical authentication required in sequence. The material itself remains our most promising development in personal protection technology—lightweight but capable of dispersing impact forces across the entire structure rather than just the point of contact."
"Military applications?" Bruce asked, maintaining his cover as the business-minded CEO.
"Originally, yes," Lucius confirmed. "Though your father had concerns about battlefield escalation if deployed widely. The current prototypes remain in development phase—restricted to in-house testing only."
Bruce nodded, processing the information while scanning the laboratory's layout. The vault containing the prototype armor was positioned against the north wall, with fewer access points but also fewer security cameras covering potential approach vectors. A deliberate design choice or an oversight? Either way, it represented a vulnerability Taskmaster might exploit.
"Any unauthorized access attempts recently?" Bruce asked, keeping his tone casual despite the pointed nature of the question.
Lucius adjusted his glasses, choosing his words carefully. "Nothing triggering our primary alarms. Though the system has logged several instances of what might be termed 'electronic reconnaissance'—subtle probing of our security protocols from external sources."
"Sophisticated?"
"Extremely," Lucius confirmed. "Targeted specifically at the databases containing information on this facility's layout and security measures. The attempts were blocked, but their precision suggests inside knowledge of our network architecture."
Bruce frowned. "A potential leak among our security personnel?"
"Possible, though I've found no evidence yet. I've implemented additional monitoring protocols focused on unusual access patterns." Lucius hesitated before adding, "I had planned to brief you on this next week, but given your unexpected interest in our security this evening..."
The unspoken question hung in the air between them. Years of collaboration had created a unique understanding between Bruce Wayne and Lucius Fox—a careful dance of what was explicitly stated and what remained tactfully unacknowledged.
"I appreciate your proactive approach, Lucius," Bruce replied smoothly. "Given recent corporate espionage attempts against Queen Consolidated and LexCorp, we can't be too careful with our proprietary technology."
"Indeed, Mr. Wayne." Lucius gestured toward a secure door at the far end of the laboratory. "Perhaps you'd like to inspect the prototypes personally? It's been some time since you've reviewed the project."
"Lead the way," Bruce agreed, following Lucius through a series of security checkpoints that required increasingly specific credentials.
The inner sanctum of Applied Sciences was a marvel of cutting-edge technology and brilliant innovation. Workstations surrounded by holographic displays showed complex molecular structures rotating in three dimensions. Robotic fabrication units precisely assembled components too small for human hands to manipulate. In the center, protected by a transparent security enclosure, stood a mannequin fitted with sections of what appeared to be matte black fabric but was actually the advanced armor composite.
"Our latest iteration," Lucius explained, entering a complex code to lower the security barrier. "Thirty percent lighter than the previous version but with forty percent greater impact dispersion. The material adapts to body temperature, becoming more flexible with movement while instantly rigid upon impact."
Bruce approached the display, professional interest now genuine rather than feigned. "What about ballistic protection?"
"Tested against everything from standard 9mm rounds to armor-piercing rifle cartridges," Lucius replied with evident pride. "Complete protection against the former, significant mitigation of the latter—though the wearer would still experience substantial blunt force trauma from high-caliber impacts."
Bruce's fingers traced the material, noting its remarkable combination of flexibility and strength. Similar to sections of the Batsuit, but significantly advanced beyond his current specifications. The tactical applications were immediately apparent—as were the dangers should this technology fall into the wrong hands.
"Impressive work, Lucius," Bruce said sincerely. "Though I share my father's concerns about potential weaponization. Let's keep this in the prototype phase indefinitely—restricted to theoretical development rather than practical application."
Lucius nodded, understanding the real message beneath the corporate directive. "Of course, Mr. Wayne. Though I should note that several board members have expressed interest in the potential revenue from military contracts."
"The Wayne legacy has always balanced profit with responsibility," Bruce replied, his tone making it clear this was non-negotiable. "Some technologies are best kept theoretical."
As they exited the secure area, returning to the main laboratory, Bruce casually glanced at his watch. "I should let you get back to your evening, Lucius. I appreciate the impromptu tour."
"Always a pleasure, Mr. Wayne," Lucius replied. "Though your sudden interest in security protocols does raise certain... questions."
Bruce offered his most disarming playboy smile. "Just being thorough. The upcoming European expansion has me thinking about asset protection across all divisions."
Lucius clearly didn't believe the explanation but respected the boundaries of their unusual arrangement. "Of course. Will you require anything else this evening?"
"Actually," Bruce said as if the thought had just occurred to him, "could you ensure the auxiliary power systems are running at full capacity tonight? With the storm front moving in, I'd hate for any power fluctuations to disrupt ongoing experiments."
The request was innocuous on its surface, but Lucius understood the subtext immediately. Auxiliary power would maintain security systems even if main power were compromised—a precaution against tactics commonly employed during sophisticated break-ins.
"Consider it done," Lucius confirmed with a slight nod. "I'll personally verify the systems before leaving."
"Thank you, Lucius," Bruce said simply, gratitude extending beyond the stated request to their entire complex relationship. "Have a good evening."
As Bruce departed, his mind shifted fully into Batman mode, analyzing the facility's vulnerabilities and Taskmaster's likely approach vectors. The roof presented the most obvious entry point, though the ventilation system on the east side offered a less monitored alternative. The security protocols, while impressive, all operated on predictable patterns that someone with Taskmaster's abilities could potentially memorize and exploit.
Tonight would be challenging—defending against an opponent who could perfectly mirror his own techniques while protecting technology that could make Deathstroke nearly invulnerable. As the elevator descended toward the lobby, Bruce mentally reviewed the modified combat forms Dick had helped him develop, their unpredictable nature potentially the key to countering Taskmaster's photographic reflexes.
For the first time, Batman would enter battle using techniques developed not solely from his own training but incorporating the unique skills of his young ward. The symmetry wasn't lost on him—facing a mirrored opponent while himself adopting a fighting style that reflected another's expertise.
The elevator doors opened to the grand lobby of Wayne Enterprises, where Bruce Wayne's Bentley waited at the curb. As his chauffeur held the door, Bruce allowed himself one last glance up at the Applied Sciences floors. Within hours, Batman would return to defend what Bruce Wayne had just inspected.
And somewhere in Gotham, Taskmaster was making his final preparations for exactly the same rendezvous.